"Noni is drunk and he sleeps. Let him sleep. Oh, what a cold night
it is. There isn't enough warmth in it even to warm your nose. I am
cold. I feel cold and lonesome, Noni. I can't drink like that,
although everybody knows I am a drunkard. But it is one thing to
drink, and another to drown in gin--that's an entirely different
matter. Noni--you are like a drowned man, simply like a corpse. I
feel ashamed for your sake, Noni. I shall drink now and--"

He rises, and staggering, finds an unopened bottle and drinks.

"A fine wind. They call this a storm--do you hear, Noni? They call
this a storm. What will they call a real storm?"

He drinks again.

"A fine wind!"

He goes over to the window and, pushing aside the corner of the
sail, looks out.

"Not a single light on the sea, or in the village. They have hidden
themselves and are sleeping--they are waiting for the storm to pass.
B-r-r, how cold! I would have driven them all out to sea; it is mean
to go to sea only when the weather is calm. That is cheating the
sea. I am a pirate, that's true; my name is Khorre, and I should
have been hanged long ago on a yard, that's true, too--but I shall
never allow myself such meanness as to cheat the sea. Why did you
bring me to this hole, Noni?"

He picks up some brushwood, and throws it into the fireplace.